


Sand Dragon

by aggiepuff



Series: Rubies & Sapphires [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Lyanna Mormont, Dothraki, Ellaria is NOT a child killer, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow's Name is Jaehaerys, Jorah Mormont Lives, Lyanna Mormont Lives, Myrcella Baratheon lives, Rae is a death by fire kind of girl, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Rhaenys does NOT want the Iron Throne, Targaryen bonding, There's gonna be some changes around here, Tormund makes a very brief appearance, just let her live in peace, the Dothraki Live, the dragons know, time to fuck Cersei up, you cannot make her take the Iron Throne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:49:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: She survived.She survived and she thrived in the golden sands and everlasting heat of her mother’s home. But she is the blood of Old Valyria and her eyes gleam purple in the sun. Fire cannot kill her and there is a Dragon Queen returned to the shores of the Seven Kingdoms. Her home is Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. And she will have her vengeance.





	1. Chapter 1

“I have four daughters, I remind you. Your sisters. My Elia is fourteen, almost a woman. Obella is twelve, on the brink of maiden-hood. They worship you, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end?”

“Then what do you suggest?” big-boned Obara demanded, glowering as she leaned against the sandstone pillar.

“The lion queen must suffer,” said golden haired Tyne, “but the daughter need not suffer for the sins of her mother.”

“By Dornish law, the little lioness would be queen, not her half-wit brother,” Arianne pointed out.

“We cannot crown her,” Nymeria argued. “She is not Dornish and it would not cause her mother pain. Besides, if that is our logic, then by rights Rhae--”

“No,” a soft voice echoed from the shadow of the pavillion. “I renounced all titles by my father’s blood long ago.”

The Sand Snakes turned, Obara in her leather, pretty Nymeria with her dark eyes, Tyene the single spot of light amidst the dark sisters, black skinned Sarella, horse-minded Elia; even young Obella and little Dorea and Loreza looked at her.

“We could avenge your uncle, the love of my life,” Ellaria said softly, eyeing her.

Rae, who was once Rhaenys and princess of the Seven Kingdoms, folded her arms across her chest. She was a tall woman of twenty-three with her mother’s thick, curling black hair and golden-brown skin, and her father’s dreaming violet eyes. “No,” she said firmly. “I will not sit upon that cursed throne.”

“Then, again I ask, what do you suggest?” Obara growled.

“The dragon girl has landed on Dragonstone,” Nymeria said slowly.

“Good,” Rae said, “she can have the Iron Throne.”

“And do we help her take it or stay far from the Iron War?” Ellaria asked.

“And, in the meantime, how do we punish the Lannisters for their treachery?” Tyene demanded. “Father is dead. He cannot go unavenged.”

“Think of how much pain the lion queen would endure, _believing_ her only daughter murdered,” Sarella said quietly, speaking for the first time.

Rae stared at quiet Sarella. Wickedly clever Sarella. “That is...not impossible.”

The Sand Snakes exchanged looks.

“Then it is decided,” Ellaria said, smoothing her skirts as she stood. “Tyene, what poison can emulate death?”

“The Long Sleep will work.”

“Good. Sarella, begin crafting her likeness; Elia and Obella will help you.”

“Bring them here, to Hellholt,” Rae said.

“Them?”

Rae tilted her head and smiled at Nymeria. “The lion bitch will not allow her daughter to stay with the family of the man her Mountain murdered. She will try to take her back and Trystane loves his betrothed. He will wish to go with her. You will need to kill him, too.”

“If we kill Trystane, we will need to inform Father of our plans,” Arianne said. “He will not forgive the murder of my brother, even if it is only a ruse."

“Then we tell him, but only after it’s done.”

“Only after they are safely hidden here,” added Rae.

“Sarella and I will bring them,” Obara agreed.

“Then return to Sunspear and begin preparations.”

The Sand Snakes nodded and stood. Rae watched her cousins and the woman who was the closest thing she had to a mother file from the open air pavilion. As Ellaria left, she turned to Rae. “We will have our revenge,” she said, voice soft and fierce. Fire burned in Ellaria’s dark eyes, hot and bright as wildfire.

“We will have our _justice_ ,” Rae corrected firmly.

Ellaria didn’t respond. She turned and followed her daughters from the pavilion, leaving Rae alone. A faint screech, like a hawk’s call, came from above. Rae looked to the tiny dot gliding high in the crystal sky, a tiny dot circled the isolated, riverside fortress of Hellholt.


	2. Chapter 2

The clatter of hooves and shouts from the courtyard broke Rae’s concentration. She looked up from _A Dance with Dragons: a History of Internal Targaryen Feuds_. Frynne, her handmaiden with hair so dark it was almost black and skin tanned by Dornish sun, trotted into the library, pale blue skirts swishing.

“What is it?” Rae asked.

“A message from Sunspear, your Highness,” Frynne answered, holding out a roll of parchment sealed with red wax stamped with the Martell’s spear-pierced sun.

Rae stood, taking the scroll with a nod of thanks. “Make sure the messenger and his sandsteed are fed and watered.”

Frynne dipped a quick curtsey. “Very good, my lady,” she said before trotting off again.

Rae watched her go. Frynne had been with Rae ever since she relocated to the almost-abandoned fortress of Hellholt at sixteen. She was one of the few servants she kept here. The household of Hellholt was not large, consisting of a cook, a housekeeper, Frynne, and a single squadron of house guards, and the ancient castle dwarfed them.

House Uller, to whom the Hellholt belonged, had long since given the stinking castle and its grounds over to the desert, relocating farther downriver where the air was cooler and the ports prosperous. Rae had only come here when her uncle Doran began to fear her Targaryen eyes. Sometimes she chafed at the isolation but it could not be helped.

The message from Sunspear was written on dark yellow parchment, the red wax seal almost like blood. She broke the seal and her insides grew cold as she read:

> _Father and Quentyn are dead. Faceless Men from Bravos came with Lion gold. The golden child and my brother are safe, hidden where none may find them._
> 
> _Come home._

Rae stared at the message, fighting tears.

Most of her earliest memories were of her uncle Doran.

Uncle Doran, holding her tight as she cried from nightmares of her mother’s screams.

Uncle Doran, whispering promises of safety and love.

Uncle Doran laughing as she played in the Water Gardens.

Uncle Doran calling encouragement as she practiced with her sword.

Everything was Uncle Doran and Uncle Oberyn and now they were both gone.

Dead. Buried. _Gone_.

> _Come home._

This was Arianne’s writing. Arianne who was now Princess of Sunspear. Arianne who was her cousin and who knew why she was sent to the Hellholt. Arianne who knew what she would bring if she returned.

Rae hoped Arianne knew what she was doing.

* * *

Eliari wheeled high above the Old Palace, golden sandstone one with the desert far below.

“ _Ilagon_.”

Eliari tilted down, an easy descent that ended in the courtyard at the center of the palace.

Servants scrambled for cover as Rae slid from her back. Eliari stretched her scarlet neck, scales gleaming in the Dornish sun, the golden edges of her horns and spikes glinting.

“What took you so long?”

Rae ignored Nymeria. “ _Kostilus ȳdra daor ipradagon mirros_ ,” she told Eliari.

Frynne stepped down from Eliari's back with far more grace than Rae had. “I will watch her,” she told her mistress. Rae nodded her thanks; Frynne really was the only person, outside of her cousins, with whom Rae would trust Eliari.

Eliari huffed at them but turned, settling on the sun-warmed stones of the courtyard and, for all appearances, went to sleep.

Nymeria led Rae through the winding, twisting corridors of Sunspear in silence. The Old Palace was not the Water Gardens with it's open pavilions echoing with the trickling of water. It was a fortress of sandstone, built before Queen Nymeria ever set foot on Dorne's shores. The Sandship, it was called, and it jutted into the sea like the prow of a boat, surrounded on three sides by water with the Winding Walls and Shadow City at it's back.

Nymeria took a sharp left and emerged into a the small garden beneath one of the elegant Rhoynish towers. At the garden's center Arianne sat, Ellaria on her left, the Sand Snakes at their backs. Across from her was an old woman in all black that must be baking her in the Dornish heat, and a large, bald man who stared as they approached.

Arianne turned to them, dark eyes serious, expression grim. Across her cheek, a long red line from a blade's sharp edge stood out against her dark skin.

Rae's hand twitched for the hilt of Dark Sister at her waist. “They are dead?” She growled.

Obara nodded sharply. “Very dead,” she said.

“I don't mean to be rude,” the old woman huffed, sounding as if she didn’t care if she was rude in the slightest, “but who are you?”

Rae stiffened but she didn't take her eyes off Arianne. This was Arianne's meeting, Arianne's decision. Arianne was Princess of Dorne and Rae would do as her liege bid.

Arianne straightened, turning those dark eyes on the old woman. “ _This_ ,” she said, strongly, clearly, “is my cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar and Elia Martell, Princess of Dragonstone and Sunspear, the Sand Dragon of Dorne.”

A soft sound, almost a gasp, came from the large man. Slowly, he stood, staring at her.

Rae knew what he saw: dark hair, dark skin, a strong Dornish nose, full mouth. A woman of twenty three dressed in leather armor, the shoulder nearest him embossed with the red and gold spear-pierced sun of Dorne. Rae also knew what he didn't see: the red and black three headed dragon on her right shoulder, the set of her chin almost identical to her father's, the Targaryen shape and color of her eyes.

She turned to meet the stranger's gaze and he really did gasp that time as her deep violet eyes met his, the sun turning their color a bright, sparkling amethyst.

“I thought you were dead,” the man whispered.

Rae squinted at him. She knew this man, this spider. Spider. That's what Father called him. The Spider called her one of his little birdies.

“You always gave me treats,” she said, frowning. “Little sweats and things. But you always wanted me to tell you things first.”

“I am Varys,” the man, sweeping a deep bow.

“He is the spy-master of Westeros,” Ellaria said, her suspicious gaze focused on the man.

“And I am Lady Olenna Tyrell,” the old woman interrupted. “Now that we have all been introduced, shall we get back to business?”

Rae thought to join the Sand Snakes behind Arianne, but her cousin motioned to the seat on her right instead. She sat, a little stiffly, wishing vaguely she’d thought to bring something more elegant than armour.

Nymeria stood behind her with the other Sand Snakes and Lady Olenna nodded in satisfaction. “Now,” she said, “why did you invite me here?”

“We invited you to Dorne because we needed your help. You came to Dorne because you need our help.”

“What is your name, again?”

“Obara.”

“Obara,” Lady Olenna repeated, nodding. “You look like an angry little boy. Don’t presume to to tell me what I need.”

“Forgive my sister,” Nymeria said. “What she lacks in diplomacy--”

“Do shut up my dear.” Lady Olenna turned her attention to Tyne. “Anything from you.”

Tyene opened her mouth--

“No? Good. Let the grown women speak.”

“The Lannisters have declared war on House Tyrell,” Arianne said. “They have declared war on Dorne. We must be allies now if we wish to survive.”

“Cersei stole a future from me. She killed my son. She killed my grandson. She killed my granddaughter. Survival is not what I am after now.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Ellaria agreed. “It is not survival we offer. It is your heart’s desire.”

Lady Olenna raised a disbelieving brow. “And what is my heart’s desire?”

“Vengeance,” Ellaria answered.

“Justice,” Arianne echoed.

Varys folded his hands inside the sleeves of his richly brocaded robe. He cast a quick look at Rae but his voice did not falter when he said, “Fire and blood.”

 

* * *

 

**Valyrian Translations**

_Ilagon -_ Down

 _Kostilus ȳdra daor ipradagon mirros_ \- Please don't eat anything


	3. Chapter 3

“I think it best that you stay here,” Arianne said, studying the maps of the Seven Kingdoms spread across the long table.

Rae folded her arms across her chest. “You are right,” she agreed. “But, who will you send to the Dragon Queen?”

“Ellaria and Obara,” Arianne answered. “And Tyene will go to King’s Landing.”

Rae blinked, surprised. “To King’s Landing?”

“She is--” Arianne swallowed hard. “She was Father’s spy there before. She will be our spy now.”

“She will blend in well,” Rae agreed. Tyene, whose mother had been a Septa from the Riverlands, was pale gold to her sisters’ bronze, with fair skin, dark blonde hair, and eyes the color a storm at sea.

“Yes,” Arianne nodded, “and she will provide us with much needed intelligence. Her reports will be sent directly here.” Arianne looked up, “I will need you here. You are far more learned in war than I.”

Rae snorted. “I read dusty old books about wars fought hundreds of years ago.”

“It is more than I know,” Arianne insisted.

Rae shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Arianne motioned to the maps. “What do you see?”

Rae stepped closer. Figurines like lions and dragons and horses were placed around the map, representing the Lannister, Targaryen and Dornish forces. A single rose was placed at Highgarden, Lady Olenna’s stronghold.

“Does the Crown have an armada?”

Arianne tilted her head, studying the map. It was not a great distance between the coast of the Crownlands and Dorne’s shores. An invasion by water was not impossible. While Dorne had never lost a war fought on their own land, Rae did not think it wise to tempt fate.

“I do not know.”

“I suggest you find out.”

* * *

Fire boiled through Rae’s veins. She shook with rage, tears coming hot and fast. The message crumpled in her fist.

“We know if they have an armada now,” Arianne laughed wetly.

“How can you laugh?” Rae sobbed. She threw the ball of parchment. She wanted that accursed scrap as far from her as it was possible to be. “They are _gone_! Obara is dead! Ellaria is dead! Uncle Oberyn! Uncle Doran! Quentyn! Everyone is gone beyond our reach! There is no one left!”

“ _W_ _e_ are left,” Sarella said quietly, firmly. She stood, back straight as her sword. Her cool, dark eyes surveyed her sisters and her cousins.

Arianne nodded, wiping away her tears. “We are left,” she repeated. “We are left and we will finish what we started.” Turning, she focused on Nymeria who sat, quietly, across from her. “What does Tyene say?”

“The Lions move against Highgarden,” Nymeria said, her eyes glistening with unspent tears.

“Lady Olenna is our ally,” Arianne said, forcing her voice to be calm, “and the foodstuffs of the Reach is crucial in the Dragon Queen’s war for the Iron Throne. Nymeria, you will lead half our army to Highgarden.”

“And what would you have me do?” Rae spat, fury still coursing through her veins. “Sit here safe in the Old Palace and practice my embroidery?” She had never been good at this, at keeping herself in check or sitting quietly by. She had done so once already and now Ellaria and Obara were gone. She would not do nothing again.

Rae turned suddenly, clarity coming quick as a crashing wave. She marched for the door, purpose driving her.

“Where are going?” Arianne demanded.

“It is time for that two-bit pirate to die,” Rae snarled without looking back.

Eliari was not difficult to find.

The great red dragon was sleeping again. It was all she seemed to do here in Sunspear, if Rae was not riding her. At the Hellholt Eliari could not be kept from the skies but here in the Old Palace the great beast wanted nothing but to laze in the sun, occasionally rolling in the shallow pools tucked in the shade of the garden walls. The only times she ever bestered herself was to catch fish off the coast.

Rae scowled and nudged one of her golden-clawed paws. Eliari snorted, turning away from the pressure.

“ _Jiōragon bē_ ,” Rae growled. “ _Issa jēda naejot gūrogon aōha havor_.”

“That did not sound polite,” Sarella’s soft voice commented.

Rae jumped. “Damn you, Sari. Learn to make noise when you move.”

Sarella flashed a smile, brilliantly white against her dark skin. Her thick, curling black hair was cut short and wrapped under a colorful scarf. The hem of her linen shirt was tucked into breeches, sturdy sea boots encasing her calves. She looked as Rae imagined her mother might: a seafaring trader from the Summer Isles ready for a voyage.

Rae frowned at her. “Where are you going?”

“I go where you go, cousin,” she answered easily, tucking her hands into her pockets.

Rae shook her head. “No. I go hunting krakens. It will not be safe and I doubt I will return.”

“All the more reason I must come,” Sarella said. “I will follow you in the _Dawn Rider_ . I will bring rations, food and water, and give you a safe place to rest. You will be searching the high seas which you do not know. You _need_ me.”

“I cannot ask you to risk your life so needlessly,” Rae tried one last weak protest.

“We have a dragon,” Sarella said confidently, stepping up to stand beside Rae.

Rae hadn't noticed before, it had been so long since she spent time with the fourth Sand Snake, but Sarella was almost as tall as her now. “A dragon does not guarantee victory.”

“Perhaps,” Sarella conceded, “but it surely tips the scales in our favor. Besides, you do not know the Seven Kingdoms beyond your dusty books.”

“And you do?” A sudden thought surfaced. “Is _that_ where you’ve been? Seeing the Seven Kingdoms?”

Sarella smiled, secretive and catlike. “In a manner of speaking.”

Rae pursed her lips. “I hate secrets,” she informed her cousin. With a sigh, though, Rae relented. “Alright. Follow us in the _Dawn Rider_.”

“Excellent.” Sarella glanced down at the snoozing dragon. “We’ll go when you are ready?”

* * *

 

**Valyrian Translations**

_Jiōragon bē.  Issa jēda naejot gūrogon aōha havor_ \- Get up. It is time to earn your food.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Eliari soared across the clear blue sky, wheeling so high above the endless ocean Rae couldn’t smell the salt and brine. The cold wind burned her face and eyes and she squinted, searching for specks on the horizon.

A week. 

Flying across the ocean for a week. Below and behind, the _Dawn Rider_ followed, pulling a second, smaller ship of supplies where Eliari could rest her wings when she tired.

Impatience burned Rae and she hissed like a scalded cat. It was taking too long. Sarella suggested north along the coast, following the path Ellaria and Obara should have taken to come home, yet nothing. 

Rae tugged Eliari around, wheeling back toward the _Dawn Rider_. It was nearing sunset. They both need to--Rae squinted. Something dark speckled the western horizon.

 _“Naejot se endia_ ," Rae urged Eliari.

The dragon stretched her great wings, the sun setting them afire. 

The specks grew larger until Rae was directly over them.

Ships. Hundreds of them. All with black sails painted with white krakens. 

Rae shouted in triumph. “ _DRACARYS!_ ”

The flames raged and Rae’s screams were drowned by Eliari’s roar. Men shrieked. An arrow whizzed past her ear. She ducked down, urging Eliari faster. The stench of burned flesh and hair rose from the flames. Eliari crashed through masts, jaws snapping as sailors came too close.

She swooped low, burning ship after ship. Men jumped into the water to escape the flames. Rae urged Eliari faster, fiercer. 

Eliari soared high above the billowing black smoke, reaching for the clear blue sky. Bellow, the sea burned, matching the fire in Rae's heart. Bone deep satisfaction seared through her veins and her grin was fierce as Eliari’s rage. 

The Greyjoy fleet burned, brighter and hotter than Dorne’s. _For Obara. For Ellaria._

She had found the Greyjoys. For her cousin. For her aunt who had been a mother. For her family she had found and destroyed those who dared harm them. 

* * *

 “What do you mean he’s not dead?”

Arianne sighed. “Euron Greyjoy was at the summit. He sat beside the Lion Bitch.”

“I _burned_ him!”

“No, you burned half his fleet. The slimy bastard survived.” Arianne sat back. A breeze rustled through the balcony, tugging at her dark hair. The stench of burned hair still clung to Rae’s skin and soot streaked her face but in the balcony of Arianne’s room in Sunspear she was returned to the isolated splendor of her childhood. 

Yet she could never go back.

Rae forced a deep breath into her lungs, dragging in the scent of desert flowers and warm stone. When she spoke it was calmly, clearly. "What happened?"

Arianne sighed. "He came with the Lion Bitch and accused the Queen of sending her red terror to burn his fleet. Honestly I don't know how her Majesty hid her surprise."

Rae frowned. "We really should tell her about Eliari."

Arianne shook her head. "No. I'll let you have that honor in person."

"What happened next?"

"Quite a lot of backhanded bitchiness. We should be grateful Lady Olenna wasn't there."

Rae snorted. "Nothing would have been resolved were Lady Olenna there. But that doesn't answer my question about the lice-ridden pirate."

Arianne shrugged. "He left. He took one look at the undead creature her Majesty brought as proof and he left. Said he and his fleet would return to the Iron Islands where the dead could not reach."

Rae scowled. "Coward."

"I agree. But, per the cease fire, we cannot chase him."

"I never agreed to that," Rae snarled, "and I will not agree to it now." She turned on her heel, marching from the room.

* * *

**Valyrian Translations**

_Naejot se endia_ \- To the West

 


	5. Chapter 5

Eliaria crashed to the deck, claws digging into the wood. Her fire engulfed the mast and men screamed. Rae slid from her back, unsheathing Dark Sister.

Dorne's armada surrounded what was left of the Greyjoy fleet and Rae hunted, striding across the smoldering deck.

"Find him," Sarella ordered as she hauled herself over the ship's side.

Dornish sailors rushed to obey. A moment later a man called, "Here, my lady!"

Euron Greyjoy stumbled forward, shoved by the sailors who found him. Rae wasn't sure what she expected from the man who stole the woman who was her mother and her oldest cousin. Someone big, perhaps. Larger than life, intimidating.

The man before her was round and ratlike, ugly and disgusting with blackened teeth, dirty skin, and torn clothes. She did not want to approach for fear of sea lice, but she stepped forward, hand tightening on the hilt of Dark Sister.

"You are far from the Iron Islands," she said, forcing her voice to calmness. "Where are you going?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" He sneered.

Rae tilted her head, violet eyes narrowing dangerously. "If you do not tell me, I will kill you."

“If you kill me, you'll never find your answers,” the filthy man cackled, gray-green eyes crazed.

“What,” Rae sneered, the fire in her veins burning, “you think I cannot read your maps? Your notes? Your messages?”

He opened his mouth--but Dark Sister slid between his ribs. Blood gurgled in his lungs.

Rae stepped back, pulling Dark Sister free.

Euron Greyjoy fell to the deck with a hollow thump, his last laugh twisting his face.

“I guess what is dead may die again,” Rae said, ice in her heart. She turned. “Where is the First Mate?”

Sarella shoved a middle aged man forward. His curly brown hair was a rat's nest over his eyes and he trembled in his boots. Behind Rae, Eliari opened her jaws in a quiet snarl, white fangs gleaming.

“Because your lord would not answer my question, I will ask you. Where was the Iron Fleet sailing?”

The man shook his head furiously, quivering with fear.

Rae stepped closer, close enough to smell the man's sweat and the citrus on his breath. “I make the same bargain with you as I offered to him: tell me what I want to know and I will set you free.”

The man breathed deep, gaze shifting between Rae and the dragon behind her.

“Go on,” Rae encouraged, voice a soft hiss. “Freedom for information.”

“W-we were going t-to--”

Rae rolled her eyes, her patience failing. “Oh, spit it out already.”

“WeweregoingtoEssostocollecttheGoldenCompanyfortheQueen.”

Sarella raised an eyebrow behind the man’s back. “The Golden Company.”

The man whirled, nodding furiously. “Yes! The Golden Company! The Queen hired them to fight against the Pretender!”

“Why would the Lion Queen need the Golden Company?” Sarella asked. “Unless…”

Rae’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t have an army.”

“She doesn’t have an army,” Sarella echoed and her mouth split into a wide, wolfish smile.

Rae grinned, dark and feral, with far too many teeth. Quick as lightning, Dark Sister flashed across the First Mate's throat.

The man froze. Then, slowly, his head slid sideways, falling to the ground with a thump. Blood spurted from the stump that had been the man's neck. The body crumpled to the deck.

“I thought you said you would free him,” Sarella commented, head tilting as she studied the body.

“I did,” replied Rae, sheathing Dark Sister. “I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.”

Turning, she marched across the deck, heading for Eliari. “The fleet is yours, Sarella, to do with as you wish.”

“Where are you going?”

Rae stopped, halfway up Eliari’s shoulder. “I think it is time I meet my aunt.”


	6. The Long Night

She watched the lights of the Dothraki swords sweep across the snow, a fiery wave plunging into darkness. Beside her, Drogon lifted his head, nostrils flaring, but Daenerys took no notice. She could hear the shrill Dothraki war cries and they ignited a fire in her heart. They brought the past near again, the warmth of Drogo's hands on her waist, the strength of him burning bright beside her, ready to take the world in her name.

The wave crashed into darkness--and buckled. The fierce cries turned to screams. The pins of light wavered, blinked out. 

Daenerys' heart stuck in her throat. Her Dothraki were dying. She whirled, making for Drogon.

"Dany, no." Jon caught her arm, blocking her path. 

She yanked free of his grasp. "I have to help them!" She cried. "I can't let them die!"

Jon's sorrowful gray eyes met her angry amethyst gaze. "I'm sorry," he said, deep baritone voice lowering. "We have to remember what is coming. We must face the Night King."

Daenerys opened her mouth, protests on her tongue--fire erupted from the sky, spewing in a tidal wave above the Dothraki’s heads. A dragon’s roar filled the air, fury and challenge given voice. The flames engulfed the army of the dead, illuminating the belly of a great beast soaring through the night, as big as any of Daenerys’ children.

Daenerys looked to Jon, eyes wide. “What-?”

“The red dragon,” Jon breathed, gray eyes wide. He remembered Euron Greyjoy. He remembered the man’s accusation that one of Daenerys’ dragons burned half his fleet. Daenerys insisted it was impossible, that her dragons were the only ones left. But here was proof, living, fire-breathing proof she was wrong.

Daenerys shook her head. “It can’t be.”

Behind them, Rhaegal and Drogon answered the strange creature’s roar, their cries echoing down the mountain. From Winterfell she could hear the cheers of the Northern defenders, their voices joined by the jubilant calls of Dorne’s trumpets.

“Come on,” she said, turning and mounting Drogon. Her great black dragon stretched his neck upward, focus drawn by the winged shadow high above them. Far below, the Dothraki screamers trilled their war cry and the sounds of battle raged. 

Drogon took to the sky, Rhaegal following, climbing the air to reach the strange dragon. But the strange dragon had other plans. It dove again, sweeping across the battle, raining flame and heat. 

From the treeline forward, the strange dragon worked its way through the army of the dead, but it did not go where the Dothraki fought at the front. Drogon flew until he was above the stranger and Daenerys saw, to her astonishment, there was a figure perched upon the unknown creature’s back and above the clang of metal and screams of horses, she could hear a high clear voice call for fire. 

“ _Dracarys_ ,” the strange dragonrider yelled and their dragon answered. The dead fell before them. A giant, a hundred feet tall at least, swung at the dragon with its club. The creature rolled away, coming back to light the monster up with a vengeance. 

Fog swept in from the north, rolling over the world and Daenerys lost sight of the strange dragon. She lost sight of almost everything, the world below shadowed save for the orange glow of the raging fire. Daenerys exchanged looks with Jon. She desperately wanted to chase the unknown dragon and its rider but the Night King was here and he was the priority. The strange dragon did not seem against them and they could not waste anymore time.

Jon seemed to know her mind. He nodded and together Rhaegal and Drogon turned, climbing high into the sky, searching for their prey.

* * *

Drogon roared, enraged, snapping and snarling as he fought to shake the wights but it was no use. The dead swarmed the dragon and Drogon took flight, screaming his rage.

Jon and Rhaegal were gone, fighting the dead on the other side of Winterfell. Surrounded on all sides, Daenerys snatched up a broad, dragonglass sword beside a fallen Vale soldier. She swung wildly, the weapon too heavy and unfamiliar for grace.

Jorah was there and hope leaped Daenerys' heart. A wight fell, another. Jorah swung his sword and the dead fell beneath his blade--an arrow sprouted from his chest. He stumbled. A second pierced his shoulder. 

Someone screamed. Was it her?

Jorah swung his sword one handed. An arrow whizzed past his head, embedding in the forehead of an undead woman with a sickening crunch. Somewhere above a dragon screamed and fire poured down, encircling them in a protective wall. 

The strange dragon hovered above them, it's rider's face in shadows. 

The rider did something Daenerys couldn't see and a moment later a long length of rope appeared, falling a few feet from them, one end tied in a loop the other end disappearing into the sky.

Daenerys grabbed Jorah, taking as much of his armor-clad weight as she could. He tripped and she almost fell but they reached the rope. 

It was thick and strong, the loop wide enough for Jorah's shoulders, the knot secure. Jorah tried to shove her forward, blue eyes tired and frantic. "Go, _Khaleesi_ ," he croaked.

Daenerys ignored him. She grabbed the rope and firmly wrapped it around his shoulders."I will not lose you," she cried as he tried to push the rope away.

"Eliari, grab her," a voice said high above them and suddenly wicked yellow claws wrapped around her midriff and they were airborne.

The icy wind whipped harshly across her face but Daenerys didn't care. She gasped in great lungfuls of clean night air. Jorah swung haphazardly in front of her but he was alive, face ashen beneath the soot and muck of battle.

Relief drowned everything and for a moment Daenerys forgot she was in the claws of an unknown dragon, being taken she did not know where. All that mattered was Jorah and herself. They were alive, they had survived. Battle raged far below as they climbed the sky but she didn't care.


	7. The Long Night, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you know that giant Rae & Eliari torched last chapter? Guess who that fucker was supposed to kill.

Eliari soared over the battle. The ring of fire burned hot and bright around Winterfell, black slashes breaking the line where the dead smothered the flames. 

Rae glanced down at the white-blonde head of the woman held in Eliari’s deadly claws. 

Even in the midst of battle, in the fight for their lives, she could not help but marvel at the Targaryen Queen. From what Rae had seen, Daenerys Targaryen was beautiful, a diamond, strong and unbreakable, glittering in fire. 

It was only these last five years Rae knew another Targaryen lived and though she had never seen the younger woman before she longed to meet her, to lay eyes on her father’s sister. Finding the other Targaryen surrounded by death, protected by only one loyal man, her dragon gone and fighting for its own survival, sent a shock of fear racing down Rae’s spine. 

When Eliari had finally reached Winterfell, Rae feared she was too late. The castle was bright with fire in a black sea, a wave of light racing across the open field before the stone walls. She heard the shrill battle screams of men and the thunder of horses galloping across the snow.

She leaned in close along Eliari’s back, shouting above the wind, “ _S_ _ōvegon, Eliari! Jikagon tolī se perzyssy se zālagon se morghe!”_

Clever, clever Eliari. She did not burn the men whose swords burned. She swooped and burned the dead creatures who charged in shadow. She dodged the flaming balls launched by the defenders of Winterfell, their light glinting off the Valyrian steel armor protecting her chest and underbelly. Armor very much like that worn by the great black dragon ridden by the Dragon Queen. Armor given as a gift by Dorne, Rae remembered vaguely, modeled after Eliari’s own that had once belonged to fierce Meraxes. 

But the great black dragon was still nearly killed by wights.

Rae would not make the same mistake. Not with Eliari. She would not land where the dead swarmed like ants on a kicked hill.

Eliari soared higher and Rae reached for the rope, sturdy, thick rope used by Dornish sailors. One end was tied to the pommel of Eliari’s saddle just above where Rae’s tether fastened, the other a loop below where her aunt’s swornshield swung precariously. 

Rae pulled, muscles burning. Inch by agonizing inch, as Eliari’s great red and gold wings carried them across the sky, she pulled the man up until, finally, he could grab hold of the spikes running down the length of Eliari's back. 

The man hauled himself up, clinging to Eliari. He was older, dark blond hair graying at his temples, sharp blue eyes framed by a lifetime’s worth of lines. His pale skin was ashen beneath the soot, the broken arrow shafts sprouting from his back and shoulders. 

He stared, slack-jawed, at her as she considered her options. She could use the rope to haul her aunt onto Eliari's back. Could the Queen, her aunt, be left in Eliari’s claws? It was steady, Eliari would not lose her grip. Could Rae risk the man--the injured man--managing to keep hold of Eliari if Rae were to remove the rope from around his barrel chest? 

Rae decided she could not. He was injured, there was no knowing how badly. She could not risk losing a man who protected her aunt so bravely. She left him as he was, the rope tethering him to Eliari’s saddle. She wrapped her hands firmly around the spikes between Eliari’s shoulders, steering her dragon back around to Winterfell.

The shrill, fiersome blast of Dorne’s trumpets pierced the cold night, rising high above the shouts and clangs of battle. Rae’s heart clenched painfully and her breath choked in her throat. The Sand Soldiers were here with their scimitars and archers, the best archers in the world.

The battle was a roiling, churning mass of the dead, the dying and the living fighting for their lives. If Nymeria was down there--

Rae forced herself from the horror of that thought. Nymeria was strong. She survived. Above all else she survived.

“ _Dracarys!”_ Rae cried and Eliari dove, spewing fire across the open ground before the walls of Winterfell.

The stench of burning flesh and hair rose in great black plumes of spoke, coating the inside of Rae’s throat.

“ _Naejot se jēdar!”_

The strange voice carried from below, caught on the wind.

Rae glanced down. The Dragon Queen in Eliari’s claws was engulfed in a cloud of black smoke. “Shit. _Eliari, sōvegon bē!_ ”

Eliari caught a hot updraft and they rose with a great pump of her wings. She cleared the smoke and Rae leaned as far as she could, peering down at the other Targaryen. “ _Issi ao sȳrī?_ ”

" _Kessa, iksan sȳrī. Kostan paghagon sir,_ " The Dragon Queen called back.

Rae swallowed hard. Never before had she heard another human speak her mother tongue. High Valyrian lived in the blood. It was an inherently known thing, singing in her ears, calling to her. Rae grew up speaking, babbling and laughing the foreign words she knew in her soul. Her cousins learned a handful of the words but they could not manage the right curl of their tongues. They spoke the Lesser Valyrian of Essos and Slaver’s Bay but there was no magic in it. Their words did not call to her.

The Dragon Queen’s High Valyrian was magic and tears sprang to Rae’s eyes when she heard the words.

* * *

**Valyrian Translations**

_Sōvegon, Eliari! Jikagon tolī se perzyssy se zālagon se morghe!_ \- Fly, Eliari! Follow the flames and burn the dead!

 _Naejot se jēdar!_ \- To the sky!

 _sōvegon bē! -_ fly up!

 _Issi ao sȳrī?_ \- Are you alright?

 _Kessa, iksan sȳrī.  Kostan paghagon sir_ \- Yes, I am alright. I can breathe now.


	8. Chapter 8

Elliari landed outside the walls of Winterfell as the trenches smoldered, great plumes of black smoke curling in the gray pre-dawn sky. The swornshield slid from her back, stumbling as he raced for the Dragon Queen.

Rae watched the two of them embrace from Eliari’s saddle - until someone screamed her name. “RAE!”

A bloody, grimy figure raced across the sludge before Winterfell. The red of her armor was dulled by the marks of battle but relief crashed through Rae and she fumbled with the clasp keeping her fastened to Eliari’s back. 

Nymeria skidded to a stop just out of reach of Eliari’s fangs, snow and mud squelching beneath her boots as she fell back. The great scarlet and gold dragon eyed her, breathing in her scent, pale smoke billowing from between her glistening white teeth. 

 _“Raqiros, Eliari. Issa iā raqiros,_ ” Rae snapped. “ _Ao gīmigon zirȳla_.” Finally she managed to unhook her tether and scramble from the dragon’s back. 

Eliari huffed at Rae but there was something about the way she turned away that was almost amused. Rae shot the overgrown lizard an exasperated look even as she ran for her cousin.

Nymeria’s sword dug into Rae’s side but she didn’t care. Nymeria was alive. Nymeria survived the Long Night and the walking dead and the horrible nightmare that was the wights and their Night King. 

“You’re alive,” she whispered into her cousin’s chest.

“So are you,” Nym laughed wetly, pulling her tight. 

Warm air blew down on them and Rae pulled back, looking up. Eliari’s head was above them, attention focused on the crowd gathering. Dornish soldiers stood in a circle, battered and bloody but hands on their swords, their backs to the dragon as they kept wary eyes on the gathering crowd. She did not know these brave men and women who stood as their guard but gratitude welled in her heart. Rae needed this moment, needed this time to shake the adrenaline from her blood and relish the presence of family.

The Dragon Queen was gone, ushered into the keep and safety but a small girl stood at the front of the crowd, grey eyed and fierce. Her face was stone as she watched Rae and Nymeria and Elliari from behind the line of Dornish soldiers. Rae found herself unsettled by the girl-child. She was so small but she held a bloody sword and there was something wild and dangerous behind her eyes. 

Rae quickly turned away, focusing on Nymeria. "I heard the horns," she said. "I thought you were defending High Garden? What of the Lannister siege?"

Nymeria's face brightened with a smile. "Broken," she gushed. "The Dragon Queen came with her Dothraki Screamers and that great black beast of hers. Destroyed the Lannister army!"

Rae smiled. “And Lady Olenna?”

Nymeria scowled. “The same. She could hold Highgarden by the sharpness of her tongue alone, I’m sure.”

“So you came North with the Dragon Queen to escape the Rose’s thorns?” Rae laughed. “I’m not sure you chose the safer option.”

“Oh yes I did,” Nymeria insisted, glancing about the frozen fortress, black smoke still curling up from the trenches. “At least here the things that want to kill you don’t eviscerate you with words first.”

Rae laughed. 

“My lady,” one of the Dornish soldiers approached. Beneath the soot Rae could see a general’s three golden spears hammered into his breastplate. Nymeria turned to him expectantly and he bowed low. “My lady,” he repeated, “everyone is gathering in Winterfell’s hall to celebrate our survival.” 

Nymeria glanced at Rae. “We must make introductions.” 

Anxiety twisted Rae’s gut. “Yes,” she agreed quietly, “we must.”

Nymeria reached out, gentle fingers twining through hers and squeezing. In her touch Rae felt the strength of her family, of the Martells and of Dorne. It was a needed and much welcome reassurance. Come what may, she was not alone as she faced the Dragon Queen.

 

* * *

 

**Valyrian Translations**

_Raqiros, Eliari. Issa iā raqiros. Ao gīmigon zirȳla. -_ Friend, Eliari. She is a friend. You know her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Targaryen eyes. She has Targaryen eyes._

Rae squared her shoulders. Dark Sister hung from her waist, the blood dried and ugly. She was suddenly, viscerally aware of her red and gold armour, the dusky brown of her skin, the inky blackness of her hair. She was a ruby Dornish soldier coming before a diamond Targaryen Queen.

The hall was filled with the survivors of the long night, all celebrating, toasting and laughing, but Rae knew only the Targaryen before her.

“ _Rytsas, Dāria Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor, se brōzi ēlie zȳho, dāria hen andals se se Ēlie Vali, riña hen Zaldrīzesdōron, Mīrīno Dāria, khalēsi hen Parmenko Embāzmā, se Dorzalty, pryjatys hen belma se Muña Zaldrīzoti_.”

Daenerys’ amethyst eyes narrowed. “You have me at a disadvantage,” she said cooly. “You know my name but I do not know yours.”

Nymeria stepped forward, fire in her dark eyes. “Your Majesty,” she said, voice clear and strong, cutting through the din like Valyrian steel, “may I present Princess Rhaenys Martell Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar and Elia, cousin of Princess Arianne Martell, a Lady of the Rhoynar, the Sand Dragon of Dorne.”

Silence echoed through Winterfell’s hall. Soldiers and innocents turned as one to stare at Rae and Nymeria before the Dragon Queen’s makeshift throne. 

She watched the woman who was her father’s younger sister, who would have been her aunt and closest companion had the dice come up differently. The silver Targaryen hair, the lavender Targaryen eyes. The Queen looked so much like the handful of memories Rae had of her father. Her insides twisted and the old ache of grief thrummed in her chest.

“Princess Rhaenys Martell Targaryen is dead," The Queen said, stone face betraying no thought as she studied her.

Rae lifted her head, fire crackling through her veins. “I lived.”

“And what proof do you have of this?” the soldier at the Queen’s right hand asked, his voice a rumble. It was the swornshield who protected the Queen on the battlefield, an older man with gray-gold hair and clear blue eyes.

“The word of the Princess of Dorne will not suffice?” Nymeria demanded. 

Rae placed a hand on Nymeria’s shoulder. She was taller than Rae by half a foot though three years younger. Her long, dark braid was bound by a scarlet wire, pulled back from high cheekbones, full lips, and large, dark eyes. She was the beauty of the Sand Snakes, a creature of red scales and glittering fangs, with her father’s temper to match. 

Nymeria looked at Rae, but Rae kept her attention on the Queen. “Princess Arianne of Dorne will vouch for me. My dragon will vouch for me, but she is not the only gift granted by my Targaryen blood.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed. 

“A torch.”

A Dornish soldier approached, one hand on his sword, the other holding a blazing torch. He held it out. 

Rae never looked from the Queen’s purple gaze as she wrapped her hand around the heart of the flame.

* * *

**Valyrian Translation**

“ _Rytsas, Dāria Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor, se brōzi ēlie zȳho, dāria hen andals se se Ēlie Vali, riña hen Zaldrīzesdōron, Mīrīno Dāria, khalēsi hen Parmenko Embāzmā, se Dorzalty, pryjatys hen belma se Muña Zaldrīzoti._ ” - Greetings, Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.


	10. Chapter 10

The chill of winter seeped into Rae’s bones from the Dragon Queen’s cold amethyst gaze. Not even the tongues of fire licking her hand could warm her. This was the moment. This time, this place. Blood would reunite or fall by the Dragon Queen’s word. 

Slowly, Daenerys Targaryen stood, alabaster face like stone. “Rhaenys Targaryen,” she said, voice echoing in the winter stillness, “my brother’s daughter. We are pleased to see you alive when We long thought you gone.” She tilted her head, eyes darting behind Rae and Nymeria where the hall watched. A small smile forced onto her full mouth. “Perhaps this reunion is best continued in private.”

The Lady of Winterfell stood from her seat at the long table. The King in the North glanced at her. The tall redhead’s icy blue eyes stayed on Rae for a moment before turning to the Dragon Queen. “If you would permit, You Grace, my private study is available.”

The Dragon Queen nodded stiffly, allowing the King of the North to take her arm and following the Lady of Winterfell from the hall. The swornshield with world weary eyes followed, hand still gripping the hilt of his sword, and the golden haired imp after him, green eyes watching Rae with barely disguised hate. 

Rae glanced to Nymeria. Her cousin answered with a nod. She would follow where Rae lead. 

The Lady of Winterfell’s study was full of the thick, sturdy furniture common in the North, worn smooth by the ages. The Dragon Queen sat at the head of the long table dominating the room, the Northern King at her left, her swornshield at her back, the imp on her right. Rae hesitated only a moment before sitting opposite her, at the other head, Nymeria on her right. 

The distance stretched between them, ruby and diamond bound only by amethyst eyes and the ghosts of family long dead.

“Please,” the Dragon Queen said finally, “tell me how this miracle came to be?”

Rae lifted her head, shoulders straightening. Flickers of memory passed behind her eyes: shadowy figures and screams and Arthur Dayne’s anguished face. “Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, smuggled me from the Red Keep and delivered me into the safekeeping of my mother’s family.”

“Where is he now, this Sword of the Morning?” the Dragon Queen asked. “I would like to reward him for protecting our family so well.”

“He died, your Grace,” Rae turned to the Starks who sat so quietly, “protecting my father’s second wife, my second mother, your aunt, Lyanna Stark.”

Something flashed across the bastard Stark’s face. “Lyanna was kidnapped and raped by your father,” he snapped.

Anger sparked in Rae’s chest. She might not remember much of her father but she remembered his wedding and she remembered her mother’s words. “My father and my mother married Lyanna Stark in Dorne. They spent their wedding night at the Tower of Joy and that is where Lyanna stayed in safety.”

“How do you know this?” the swornshield demanded, baritone voice rumbling through the room.

Rae met his tired blue eyes with Martell fire. “I know my mother’s heart. I have her journals that she kept all her life. She knew she would not survive Robert’s Rebellion - it is the Gift of the Rhoynar to know such things - and she sent her journals with Ser Dayne so that I might know her as I grew.”

“It wasn’t...it wasn’t an unwilling abduction?”

Rae sneered at the Stark. “No. It was a true marriage of love - for all them.”

“Dorne has long known Robert’s Rebellions was borne of hatred and greed. A betrayal of all things held dear,” Nymeria said, husky voice cutting through the suffocating silence, “but we held our tongues and bided our time for the sake of our Sand Dragon.”

“And now there are two Dragons,” the Dragon Queen said, “and only one Iron Throne.”

“ _Khaleesi_ ,” the swornshield rumbled.

“It is a fair question,” the Dragon Queen snapped.

“It is,” Rae agreed, gaze steady on her aunt’s face. “I am Rhaenys Martell Targaryen. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the Crown Prince of Westeros. By Right of Succession I am his heir, being his only living child.”

The Dragon Queen seemed as stone. Behind her, the swornshield’s grip on his sword tightened. 

Rhaenys leaned into her chair, posture as relaxed as she could make it even as she remembered where her throwing dagger was hidden. “Be that as it may,” she continued, voice steady, “I renounced all titles by my father’s blood long ago. I have no interest in ruling the Seven Kingdoms and I would sooner die than wear that cursed crown. I swear loyalty to my cousin, the Princess of Dorne. I swear loyalty to House Martell who raised me.” Her sharp violet eyes met Daenerys’ squarely. “I could swear loyalty to you as your only family.”

Daenerys’ eyes narrowed. “And what is it you ask in exchange for your loyalty?”

“A simple thing, your Grace,” Rhaenys said easily, privately relieved her voice did not betray the twisting anxiety in her gut. “All I ask for is the Lannisters.”

The Queen’s pale eyebrow rose, mouth twisting into a bemused smile. “The Lannisters?”

“What,” the Imp sneered, speaking for the first time, “you haven’t killed enough Lions yet?”

Rhaenys ignored him, focus solely on the Queen. “Yes, your Grace. Say the Lannisters are mine to do with as I wish. Give me all of the Lions for the lives of my mother and my baby brother and my father who was your brother.”

“You seek vengeance on the Lannisters for your family,” the Queen said slowly. After a moment, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot give you all of the Lannisters. One is my Hand.”

Rhaenys nodded, seeing an opening. “Then give those who are not your Hand. Say all but Tyrion Lannister belong to me.”

The Queen stayed silent. Rhaenys waited, insides a riot of nerves. She needed the Queen, her aunt, to say the Lannisters belonged to her. Dorne needed the Queen to give her the Lannisters.

The Queen sighed. “Alright, I give you the Lannisters, all but Tyrion Lannister who is my Hand.” She cocked her head. “What will you do with them?”

Rhaenys refused to smile but she took a deep breath. “Jamie Lannister I would have stay here, in Winterfell, a guest of Lady Stark as thanks for his help against the Others. Cersei Lannister I give to you, your Grace, a sign of my loyalty and love. And Myrcella Lannister-”

The Imp snorted. “That’s a cruel joke.”

Rhaenys fixed Tyrion with violet eyes. “Myrcella Lannister,” she said clearly, strongly, “I give to Dorne as Prince Trystane’s betrothed.” Rhaenys turned back to the Queen. “My cousin and young Myrcella are very much in love, your Grace, and it is Dorne’s wish they be married.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Tyrion snarled, “but my niece and your cousin are dead, murdered by your Sand Snakes.” The glare he gave Nymeria could have lit her on fire.

Now Rhaenys smiled, wolflike. “While Lannisters might murder children in their beds,” she said silkily, “we Dornish are not so cruel. Myrcella and Trystane live, hidden safely away where they will not be found.”

Tyrion stared at her, mouth hanging open, green eyes wide.


	11. Chapter 11

Rae escaped the walls of Winterfell in the early hours of the morning. The tension between her and her aunt was lessened by Rae’s pledge of loyalty and servitude before the gathered survivors and lords. She was clapped on the back and lauded by the tall Dothraki with their long black hair and burnished bronze skin so like Dorne’s. Her aunt’s swornshield watched her with wary eyes but he clasped her arm and thanked her. A giant ginger Wilding yelled at her and she thought it might be his way of flirting - except he was promptly distracted by a tall blonde woman and skipped away.

Still, Nym slid in next to her at the long wooden table. “No one is looking now,” she whispered, “and that side door leads to the courtyard and from there you can find a hiding place.”

Rae gave Nym a grateful grin and fled, plunging into the cold night air. It was the work of a moment to find the shadow of dragons just beyond Winterfell’s wall, their forms illuminated by embers at their feet. 

She approached the dragons slowly. They were great hulking shapes in the gloom, indistinguishable from each other. One lifted its head when ice crunched beneath her boots. 

Rae froze, watching, waiting with bated breath. After the battle Eliari had gone immediately to the Queen’s two surviving dragons. The three seemed to bond instantly, twining around each other like cats. Rae greatly doubted the strange dragons’ acceptance would extend to Eliari’s rider.

The great black dragon peered down at her, amber eyes gleaming in the dark like lamps, as if they contained all of his fire.

Fear rose in her chest, gut writhing. Her hands shook, every instinct screaming for her to run, but she forced herself to stay put. His hot breath wafted over her, smelling of woodsmoke and meat.

Another shape moved in the dark and Eliari’s great red face face appeared next to the black dragon. Rae smiled. “Hello, beautiful.”

Eliari lowered her head, stretching her neck so her nose almost touched Rae’s chest. The tension in Rae’s shoulders eased and she lifted her hand, stroking the soft scales of Eliari’s face. “Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight?” she whispered to her dragon. 

Above her head, the black dragon snorted, almost in approval. 

Snow crunched behind her. Rae whirled, stepping back and away from the noise. Eliari snaked her head forward, placing herself between Rae and the unknown. Flashes of skeleton faces and rotting flesh flashed before Rae's eyes. She cursed her stupidity for leaving Dark Sister with Nymeria in the Great Hall.

“Drogon does not often take to strangers,” a soft voice rumbled in the dark. 

Jon Snow stepped into the flickering light cast by the dragons’ smoldering ember beds. Shadows danced across his face, orange light flickering in his gray eyes. 

The second of the queen’s dragons reached across to the King in the North and Rae found herself encircled by dragons as the green beast herded the man closer. 

They were of a height, Rae now saw, his eyes level with hers. His black curls were unruly and almost seemed to twine amongst the black fur ruff of his heavy cloak. He looked very much a Northman in black leather, with pale skin and pale gray eyes. But he was prettier than most she had seen, more delicate in the nose and brow. Rae wondered if, in a different world, her brother, baby Aegon, might have been as pretty and her heart ached for him.

Eliari sniffed the Northman and he gingerly reached out a hand, letting it hover between them. Rae watched, ready to shove him away from her dragon, until Eliari lifted her head and pressed her nose to the palm of his hand. 

Rae breathed a sigh of relief. “She likes you.”

The Northern King glanced at her, running his hand along Eliari’s nose. “What’s her name?”

“Eliari, for my mother.”

“Your mother.” It wasn’t a question and something flashed across his face. 

“Yes," Rae said carefully. "Queen Elia of House Martell, wife of King Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark.”

That same something crossed his face again. It was almost like anger or grief or...curiosity? 

Rae latched onto his curiosity. “My mother loved her husband and her wife," she said as casually as she could, even as her heart pounded against her ribs. "Her journals say Lyanna was like air for my mother’s earth and father’s fire, breathing freedom and life into their world. They married her under a weirwood tree in the heart of Dorne.”

“So, they married her? Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“She wasn’t stolen away, an unwilling bride?”

“No.”

The Northman closed his eyes, shoulders slumping beneath his thick black cloak. Realization flashed through Rae like lightning. It was in the way he held himself, his careful questions. It was in the arch of his cheeks and delicate nose. How had she not seen it before?

Rae steeled herself for what she said next. Licking her lips nervously and breathing in deep. "Their marriage might have been short and shadowed by death and sorrow, but my mother wrote of hers and Lyanna's joy when Lyanna informed her she was with child."

The King in the North flinched. Rae's heart thudded in her ears. "Lyanna wrote she would name her son Jaehaerys and he would be Aegon's closest companion." Rae swallowed. It was hard, remembering this part. Not in that she could not remember, but in the memory brought her such grief. "Lyanna died bringing her son into the world, locked away in the Tower of Joy, safe from the Mad King and the man who coveted her, but away from those she loved."

Rae turned from staring at the glowing embers beneath her feet and found Jon Snow watching her with his unsettling gray eyes. "She died bringing her son into the world but what became of him I do not know. Eddard Stark came and killed her guards and was with his sister in her last moments so perhaps he knew. Perhaps…" The word hung between them over a great precipice. If Rae finished her thought, spoke aloud what she realized on this barren field, there would be no going back.

She almost remained silent. She almost let the words die on her tongue. But her mother's words echoed to her from black ink on soft parchment. _Courage comes from doing what is right, not what is easy._

Rae straightened her shoulders. "Perhaps he hid the babe that was all he had left of his sister from a man who happily killed children in their beds. Perhaps he took his sister's son and claimed him as his own."


End file.
